


Top Of The World With No One To Love

by Regret Me (MythicObsessions)



Series: You Find Yourself At The Top With No One To Share It With [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I numbed my feels to write this, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Omfg Poor Patrick, Soul Bond, Soul Mates AU, Trigger Warnings, mentions of drug use, soul mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5213390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicObsessions/pseuds/Regret%20Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of One, Two, And I Can't Take Three</p><p>Pete and Patrick were soul mates. Pete wasn't emotionally stable, Patrick got the blunt of that. So he cut him off.</p><p>Fall Out Boy's getting more popular and Patrick swears he does not have a soul mate anymore, but that's definitely not his feelings there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Love So Alive But It Died In Its Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So I listened to all of Falling In Reverse writing this chapter. I'm kind of proud that it didn't turn out kind of emotionally flat. But whatever.

 

Patrick listened to the Doctor explaining to his mother exactly how the treatment would work.  
Patrick resigned himself at the moment he had stepped into the center. Not listening to the conversations, ignoring the Doctor's transparent attempts at involving him in the process. Patrick had just stared at him with mild annoyance.

No, he didn't want to be apart of this. He only snapped back into the world when the bottle was pulled out.

The pharmacy authorized orange bottle tinted the pills inside an ugly brownish color, Patrick visibly shuddered.

His mother was shooting reassurances at him that really just flew over his head. He could see the fifty or so doses in the bottle. He really didn't want this. He didn't want it at all. But he knew, fourteen or no, it was his choice, ultimately. At this point he didn't feel like there was a choice.

The Doctor was explaining something to his mother.

“He can't deal with this anymore.” His mother was telling the doctor, Jones or James or something, Patrick didn't remember.  
“His bond mate is a total fuck up, they're bringing him down too.”  
The words stung Patrick more than he would have thought and he pushed off his mom, averting his gaze.  
“Shut up.” He mumbled. “Shut up, don't say that. They're not. Shut up.”  
He was weak with emotion at this point, tired of the stress. Tired of everything. He felt that silent buzz that meant his other half was too. Just so tired of it all.

Resigned would be a better description. He was resigned. He reached out and grabbed the bottle from the Doctor, smiling weakly when the whole scene seemed to freeze up for him.

“Don't tell me they're messed up.” He said slowly, easily unlocking the bottle. “Don't tell me that.” He gestured to the doctor. “Tell me... what's the dose?”  
“One tablet. It'll cut you off from your soul mate first. Then you'll disconnect.” The Doctor said evenly. “Patrick, don't take more than one every twenty-four hours. I know that the emotions you'll be getting as feedback will be a lot, but do not overdose.”

Patrick nodded and pulled out one of the pills.  
It was blue. Tiny. It'd be hard to force up if he had second thoughts. He frowned and put the pill to his lips.  
“Water?” The Doctor asked, offering a bottle.  
Patrick took it and quickly swallowed the pill, chasing it down with the water.

He choked but kept it down. He didn't want this but, then again, he needed it.

 

Pete woke up in a bed he didn't recognize but that really wasn't new to him. He managed to stay standing as he stood up, the flood of what could easily be food but obviously wasn't, he didn't eat enough for that. He was tugging on his pants when he felt it.

 _Shut up,_ A buzz and click, _shut up, don't say that. They're not._ Pete froze, his hands stilling on his jeans button. Then a flood of emotions. Pissed and resigned. Pete sighed and kept tugging on his clothes. He had just gotten outside and into the sun when he felt it. Well, not felt it. Complete radio silence. No white-noise that was a soul bond. That connection that kept you aware. He stopped in his tracks, and then presided to fall to his knees and cry his eyes out. He didn't know what had happened but whatever did, his soul mate wasn't there anymore.

 _Please, please don't be dead._ He pushed into the nothing. _Don't be dead._

  
Patrick clung to his mother as he felt the first wave.

Confusion. Guilt. Anger. Fear. Realization?  
Patrick blinked.  
_I'll be better._ He could feel it. _I'll be better, I promise. I'll be better. Make you proud._

He pulled away from his mother and fell to the ground. Shoving two fingers down his throat, he swallowed, gagging hard and dry heaving, right up until his arm was pulled away and he sat crying and spitting.  
“Please, please.” Patrick begged. “Please do better.”  
_Please make me proud._


	2. And Now That It's Dead, I Live In Your Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay eventually I'll stop writing like this.  
> Promise
> 
>  
> 
> until then
> 
> suffer with me.
> 
> PS: I still have no proofreader.  
> Ps ps: I am ashamed.

_What's better than sorrow to inspire art?_  
  
Ready?  


Pain was the first thing he felt as he pried open his eyes. It was dark still, fucking good news for a hangover. But generally that meant he'd slept past the morning, and afternoon. And hadn't eaten the whole time. And that was not good news for a hangover. Stomach acid was a bitch to bring up. Best for it to stay in its place.

Pete didn't actually stand up at first, no. He was used to this enough to know getting up too soon would not only bring up what little he'd eaten before, but also, he risked the dizziness that could land him in a hospital with a head injury and a lot to explain.

He glared at the little baggy of acid green pills on the coffee table, letting his arm dangle off the couch he'd crashed on.

He wanted to toss them. Out a window, in the toilet, down a fucking drain. He'd get creative. Maybe in a lake? No. What about the fish? Poor things.

Pete glanced around the room. Not some place he found familiar which meant, either, half of his band was crashed near by or, by some miracle of god, none of them were.

Unlikely.

With a groan, Pete pushed off the couch, almost tripping over the fucking ground. He felt lazy and dazed and a lot like death.

The room looked like some modern family spewed all over the place. Family pictures, all staged and fake. A pretty girl, Pete guessed was about fifteen or sixteen, and a little boy, like, ten years old. Pete almost wanted to scream at that. All fake smiles and sick twisted lies.

He'd guess it was the girl who hosted. Probably.  
Across the floor were people, some like Pete, just waking up, others wide awake and running a whole new kind of high. But mostly, they were passed out.

Pete shrugged off the feeling of pride. He was used to this, had training. Practiced. But really, that shouldn't be something he was proud of.

He quickly made his way through the dimly light house, looking for his band or, well, praying to god he didn't find them.

He'd promised a certain singer of his that he'd not pop pills that weren't signed by a fucking doctor.

 _Whatever.  
_ Stupid Patrick with his stupid logic. Stupid Patrick with his stupid little worried frown.

Fuck Pete for letting that get to him. Patrick had _no_ right to boss him around like that, though he was right, a lot of the time.

 _All of the time._ His stupid mind reminded him. And it was true, Patrick had an annoying habit of being right and reasonable and fucking adorable all the time.

“Pete.” A hushed voice said from _right_ behind him.  
Pete made an embarrassing sound of surprise. Something between a squeal and a honk.

He whirled around, gagging when he realized, yeah that was too much movement for him right now. Patrick had a little disappointed frown on, and sighed when Pete lost balance and almost knocked the smaller man down but caught him nonetheless.

Pete really _was_ a disappointment. Like his parents had screamed when he told them his plans for touring with the band.

Pete just sighed and wrapped himself around Patrick.

 

Pill hangovers aren't something people like to explain. Not because it was just hard to explain. It was just fucking terrible.

 _Terrible.  
_ Bone shattering terrible.

“I'm dying.” Pete whined loudly from the back seat of the van. “Patrick, promise to go on in the band without me. Please. I'm dying.”  
Patrick was obviously trying not to laugh.

“Melodramatic little prick.” He bit out, glancing at Pete with either disappointment or pity. Pete didn't know. Maybe both.

“And whose fault is this?” Joe questioned from the front sit.  
“We all know this was avoidable, Pete.” Andy agreed.

“Fuck you all.” Pete growled. “Fuck you all very much.”  
“How about no?” Patrick said, rolling out of his seat to crawl over Pete. “You're sad.”  
“Yes.” Pete replied. “I is sad.”

At that point, the van just...went quiet.

 

_  
  
There are a million reasons that Patrick could summon up to make this situation feel horribly wrong, a thousand words he could say at that point to make it all stop. A hundred movements he could make to force, _he didn't even know the guy's name_ , off his lap.   
See, Patrick. Patrick was a classy guy. At least, he thought of himself as one. He'd never slept around at any point and had no desire to ever earn the right to the title “man slut.”  
He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He kept telling himself that, at least, but his body was quite literally betraying him.

Whatshisname was shifting ever-so-slightly above him, something hard and warm pressed against his stomach. Patrick cringed. That was a dick. Yep. Patrick was screwed, maybe a little to literally.

Patrick was needy, he assumed. Three months running on a pill that literally cut him off from the one person he felt he'd need the most. From day one. The first lighting up of the bond, Patrick had become dependent on it.

The sad kind of dependent.

Like drugs.

Patrick gripped at the guy's hips, he needed to make it stop, but he didn't move to do so. He wanted to make it stop. It was like his body was trying to mess him up. Stupid Puberty, right?

It was almost, _almost_ , enough. He pushed at the guy.

“No stop.” He said calmly, fake as the smile he plastered on. “I can't.”  
Guy looked upset for a moment before that expression turned quickly into a sad one.

“It's not cheating.” He said.

Like this little prick could possibly know what Patrick was feeling.  
“You're right.” Patrick bit out. “But get off.”  
Patrick thought, maybe this guy was going to say something more but, well, he'd never know.

He pushed the guy off his lap and practically ran out of party.

Patrick was just. Patrick wasn't going to be that guy.  
And it kind of _is_ cheating.

 

___  
Ghost

 

Pete, nineteen and clean, was a sight for sore eyes. Sore eyes being the handful of friends he'd somehow maintained.

Pete, nineteen and clean, was a mess. Really, he was fooling no one.

The party, cold and boring for someone like him, no alcohol or pills or, well, yeah you get the point.

Andy, hosting with some chick, he didn't know the girl's name, only that she was pretty, had a weird smile and huge fucking tits. But Pete didn't miss the looks they gave each other, so he backed off.

Pills were a no. Drinks, another no. Hook ups were kind of not stated to be wrong or right. Neutral. It could end really badly, Pete didn't really care.

He'd been in a corner of the house, right next to a window so he could smoke, when he saw the kid for the first time.

Pete had to admit, the kid wasn't exactly attractive. He looked so young. Pete almost wanted to just, sit next to the kid so no one would taint him.

A trucker hat pulled low over his eyes, a black vest over a blue button up t-shirt. Holy shit, fucking. Fucking _sideburns.  
_ Pete was already halfway to him before he knew it.

 

“Hey uh.”  
Patrick looked up from his water he'd been staring intently at. Fucking Joe, dragging him to a party like this. He was so out of place it hurt. He hated parties. And this was only his second. The first one, he had kind of, ran.

Patrick didn't really register that hot emo guy had been staring directly at Patrick when he spoke, but he became aware of this, once he'd dragged his eyes away from the sharp hip bone peeking out from too low skinny jeans and a way too tight shirt.

“Hi?” Patrick replied.

Patrick didn't really have an opinion at this point. This guy, he looked good. A Joe Trohman leveled guy. Probably why he was at the party.

It wasn't that like, Joe was unapproachable. Patrick just didn't approach that crowd. And by crowd he simply meant “cool, not Patrick Stump” people.

“Mind if I join you?” The guy asked, smiling, teeth seeming too big for his mouth. “If that's okay.”  
Patrick blinked.

“Well yeah.” He looked down at his feet. “I won't stop you.”  
  
Pete grinned. Fucking _grinned_. He was so in.

 

 

 

____  
You should be scared of me.

 

Click, click.

CLICK  
“Fucking stop!” Patrick growled, lifting his head off his pillow to see Pete with his hand frozen over the wood of the bed headboard. “Stop. Just, stop.”  
“You're awake?” Pete asked, blinking at Patrick.

“I am now.”  
“Let's talk.”  
“Pete, no.” Patrick said slowly, sighing. “No. You need to sleep.”  
“I can't.”  
Patrick reached up and wrapping gentle fingers around Pete's still out stretched arm and tugged him down.  
“You will.” Patrick whispered, tucking his head over Pete's shoulder.

About a week after Patrick had met Pete, this strange, too hyper emo kid, he'd realized Pete was what Patrick needed in his life.

A replacement, maybe. But not really. Pete's story, told in whispers late at night, was sad. Patrick learned that Pete had no soul mate either, but hadn't been given a choice. Oh yay, more reasons to feel guilty for that.

Pete was just needy enough for Patrick to forget. Forget what was missing.

“Buzz, buzz, buzz.” Pete had whispered, “Doc, there's a hole where something was.”

“Doc, there's a hole where something was.” Patrick had agreed.

The way Patrick wrapped himself around Pete with no shyness, no hesitation. It felt like home, somehow.

Pete was a good guy, under all of that bad shit he'd done, he was really, really good.

The first time Patrick found about the insomnia, it'd been one night where he was showing Pete some songs he had written at one point. Patrick, being the young thing he was at the time, had fallen asleep. He didn't drink coffee that much really.

He'd woken up in the middle of the night to see a _very_ awake Pete sitting at the end of his bed, his knees tucked up to his face.

He'd done the same thing he did now.

Curled himself around Pete and fell back to sleep. No hesitation, not even then.  
It was the only way Pete got to sleep, he'd admitted weeks, months, later, when Patrick let him in his room through his window, after watching the nerd crawl up a lattice fucking rose hang.  
“Can I just...” Pete had flailed around a bit, until Patrick fell back in his bed, tugging his friend with him.

A bad habit maybe, for a fifteen year old without a girlfriend, boyfriend or soul mate. Maybe.

_Fuck that._

  
“You should be scared of me.” Pete whispered, his face pressed into Patrick's stomach.

Patrick rolled his eyes, glancing down to see Pete half asleep, his hand curled protectively around Patrick's thigh.  
“Why?” He whispered back. It really wasn't that late. Somewhere between six PM and eight PM. Which, for Pete, was really fucking early. Too early for sleeping.

“I'm messed up.” He could feel Pete's sigh against the bare skin showing over his waist and cringed. “And maybe I'm messing you up too.”  
“No.” Patrick said, carding a hand through Pete's hair. “No, I think I'm fine.”  
In reality, Patrick hadn't been fine. Not really. Not ever. Not since that buzz and click that was the equivalent to _Oh Hi._

It was realization.

Growing up meant a bond. A bond meant a partner.

A partner meant responsibility.

Patrick hadn't been ready.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I guess I suck at being obvious. The treatment that Patrick went "through" wasn't permanent though it could be. He basically has to take a pill once a day to keep from being reconnected with his soul mate. And like, hasn't questioned it.  
> so
> 
>  
> 
> I had a heart attack today. I saw this post that said "The Offspring broke up??" and I literally like died a little in side so I googled it, because google knows everything and figured out that, no, they did not. And that yes, they are still my favorite band of all time.  
> Fudge not or thy'll shalt be fudged.  
> or something like that.
> 
> No judge.
> 
> Fuck you.
> 
>  
> 
> Or fuck me.  
> C;

**Author's Note:**

> Random thanks to Jasper for entertaining me in this hospital. It is disgusting here.  
> Also  
> Jasper finally went and saw Frank Iero in concert. The little shit was so adorably happy, I can't, ugh. So cute.
> 
> I crave comments. Their my crack. Literally. I'm on top of the world when I read them. You guys are why I'm posting this shit so c'mon, gimme some sugar. 
> 
> Another also moment.  
> Errors on me, I have no proof readers and I barely read over this.


End file.
